deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Queen of Timbuktu
I imagined a ship-
Marooned on a desert island,
Not a deserted one,
A desert one,
Once lost in the sand dunes.
In the sand dunes of Timbuktu-
Where the Niger once bended its way,
Amidst a flourishing culture,
A religious culture,
That exchanged salt for gold.
Carrying on its back the queen-
Gloating thirst in the mirage,
A liquid called love,
Love which is like a fluid,
That evaporates in the heat.
But the ship was not eclipsed-
In the khaki sky of harmattan,
Instead it survived,
Like an epiphytic cactus,
Still nourished like a stubborn.
Marooned on a desert island,
Not a deserted one,
A desert one,
Once lost in the sand dunes.
In the sand dunes of Timbuktu-
Where the Niger once bended its way,
Amidst a flourishing culture,
A religious culture,
That exchanged salt for gold.
Carrying on its back the queen-
Gloating thirst in the mirage,
A liquid called love,
Love which is like a fluid,
That evaporates in the heat.
But the ship was not eclipsed-
In the khaki sky of harmattan,
Instead it survived,
Like an epiphytic cactus,
Still nourished like a stubborn.
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